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We're going on another tour today: to Troodos, the central mountains.

Cyprus 2002 - part VI.

Eric
2005-12-02 17:59:37

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and even though it gets more and more difficult to get around they manage by helping each other. I sure hope I'm as brave when and if my legs ever get in such a bad shape!

The trip home goes through Nicosia in the rush hour, and we have a coffee and toilet break at a highway cafeteria. The coffee is tepid Nescafe. Bvadr! Around us is a construction site and wild grass. Suddenly I'm attacked by hay fever. Back home that doesn't happen before June, but it is no mistake: I sneeze and the eyes itch. We're back in Larnaca by 5, and at Hobo Café we get a decent cup of Cypriot coffee with a glass of water as is the custom and enjoy the last rays of sun at the promenade. The promenade faces East and the sun soon sets below the houses, and towards the setting sun we walk back to the hotel to relax.

Rested we walk slowly towards Militzis. It is another warm and balmy evening. The waves splash peacefully and the horizon disappears.

Once again we get grilled halloumi for starters and I munch the tasty olives. This time Helle gets Kleftico for main course and I get grilled pork marinated in wine. Today we get the red house wine, which is pleasant and cheap (£3,25). Neither do we miss coffee and a Cypriot brandy. The meal is just as good as the last time, and the portions are huge! When I get the check I notice and tell the waiter that he has forgotten the brandy. He looks at me a bit surprised and says that it is on the house. Stupid Dane!

It is too warm and nice to go home, so we settle in front of The Meeting Pub. The pitch-black sky melts into the sea. Off coast is an illuminated ship. Cruise? In spite of the beautiful weather there are surprisingly few guests at the promenade, and we digest in peace except for an intermezzo with a gang of young Brits that are very drunk and very loud. Hooligans to be. They want taxis (home?) and complain loudly that the price is too high. "No fuckin' way I'm payin' fi-fi-five quid!" Never the less some get into a Mercedes limo and drive off, but soon they return like wet dogs. The driver must have told them to get out once they turned the corner. One urinates behind a container on the sidewalk and probably doesn't sense the shocked Cypriots passing by. He probably wouldn't care anyway, and fortunately the gang leaves for some other pub.

We're tired and walk straight home to bed.